天涯過客 [Passer-by] [Tiān yá guò kè] [English translation]

The wind picks up and the wild geese go down south, the scenery is miserable, the yellow sand declines.

Sitting alone, steeping a pot of tea, steeping until it becomes night, under the lamps.

You in your home, a few li outside, are thinking of him.

One needle, one thread; embroidering blossoming flowers

The frost of the dawn climbs the darkish roof tiles, shaking out the frost, the tea has gone cold.

Caressing the zither, wishing for an exchange of words*, wishing to ask the sound of the zither of the first of the ones to fall down.

Outside of the strings, the longing penetrates through the paper flowers on the windowsills.

Nonetheless, you give no answer whatsoever.

The strings of the zither have broken, our karma** has ended, and you have also left.

Love and hate rise and fall, the old tales pass, leaving only me behind.

How many parting sorrows can the worldly affairs hold in their grasp? They all become one with wine.

Asking you whether your heart isn't here, what are you missing?

The strings of the zither have broken, our karma has ended, and you have also left.

You're a passer-by, your tenderness lasts up to here, became silent.

The slope of the arching bridge, the pier on the shore of the river; who still remembers?

The small boat that crosses the river, and I hurt as before.

On leaving, I turn my head. Who is waving their hand from afar?

The old buddhist temple, the mist on the mountaintop is recoiling. After the fog scatters, the north winds rises.

Zen has made me quite and desolate***. The wind behind me is whistling

The sound of the flute, halfway up the mountain's waist. But you're at some bridge, so far away from him, smiling.

The reed flowers outside the pavilion; a vast expanse of whiteness.

The rain very lightly hits the ground, the autumn wind blows.

The pen will be put down aside, cannot draw; who is free and unrestrained?

The sentiments are surprisingly, just for a short moment, resembles

the fireworks under poets' and literary men's pen.

The strings have broken, our karma has ended, and she has also left.

Love and hate rises and falls, the old tales pass, leaving only me behind.

The thin bamboos in front of the door, the cool breeze snaps off the willows; you are leaving.

The wind does not stop, why bother to keep recoiling so- swaying the lantern lights?

The strings of the zither has broken, our karma has already ended, you have also left.

You are a passer-by, your tenderness lasts up to here, became silent.

Gently loosening the ropes, letting go of the world's red dust****, facing off.

Trail after me while I cross the river by boat, leaving the shore and flowing eastwards.

Suddenly turning around, you are at the ferryboat's entrance.

The strings of the zither have broken, our karma has ended, you have also left.

You are a passer-by, your tenderness lasts up to here, became silent.

The slope of the arching bridge, the pier on the shore of the river; who still remembers?

Trail after me while I cross the river by boat, leaving the shore and flowing eastwards.

Suddenly turning around, you are at the ferryboat's entrance.

• Artist:Jay Chou
• Album:Aiyo, Not Bad (2014)